Mr Stark
by geekymoviemom
Summary: That Scene from Infinity War. Spoiler alert.


_**After watching Infinity War, this scene wouldn't leave my head. My first Marvel fanfiction. :)**_

 ** _Rated T for language._**

 ** _Disclaimer: While I've seen every single MCU movie, many of them dozens of times, I've only been able to see Infinity War once so far. I'm mainly going on memory here, so please forgive any possible discrepancies. :) Also, SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't seen Infinity War, please read at your own risk!_**

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Tony Stark didn't hear Thanos snap his fingers. He wasn't on Earth, wasn't on the front lines of Wakanda, where Thanos' army was engaged in a fierce battle with the Wakandan forces and the rest of the Avengers. He was stuck on Titan, still trying to process why in the _hell_ the damn wizard had just handed over to Thanos the very same Time Stone he'd sworn to protect with his life.

At least he knew the kid was safe. Or, at least as safe as he could be. No chance of anyone dropping another airline terminal on Peter's head here, on this barren, miserable rock of a planet. As long as he could keep the bumbling idiots that called themselves… what did they call themselves again? Guardians? Maybe they ought to think up a new name for—

"Something's happening."

They all looked up at the sound of Mantis' quavering voice, watching in stunned horror as her thin body began to literally fall apart, accompanied by the sickening sound of something akin to the rustling of dry leaves. It only took seconds for her to completely crumble, the dark grey ashes scattering into the dry wind of the nearly desolate planet.

"Quill?" came another voice, much deeper this time. Tony barely had time to turn his head as the stocky, bald, tattooed Guardian he'd so aptly nicknamed Mr. Clean gaped in disbelief as his body flaked away into the same dirty ash. Tony gritted his teeth against the hair-raising sound. Not even the squeaky scrape of his long-dead father's chalk against his old chalkboard, the chalkboard on which Howard Stark had drawn many a weapons design while young Tony watched, the chalkboard that Tony still kept stored in his basement of he and Pepper's home, was as teeth-numbing as the sound of those bodies breaking apart.

"Oh man," said Quill, presumably in response to now witnessing two of his friends simply disintegrate into thin air. But then, not one second later, he started to disintegrate too. His eyes, laced with an almost unimaginable sadness since Thanos had confessed to killing Gamora in his quest for the Soul Stone, looked almost relieved as he faded away. As if he was happy to leave his life behind if it meant living without his beloved.

Tony blinked his bloodshot eyes, the ashes of his fallen comrades still fluttering about, like some sort of discolored, dystopian snowflakes. He quickly looked over at the kid, standing off to the side, looking around with a stunned look on his young, innocent face.

 _At least the kid is safe_ , Tony thought. And once all of this was over, once he was able to figure out a way to get Peter safely home, the kid was going to get a very, very stern talking-to. Complete with the relinquishment of the Iron Spider Suit until he was at least old enough to vote.

He'd barely begun composing his speech when he happened to glance over at Strange the Sorcerer, whose body was already starting to fragment, already starting to splinter and shatter into those same damn grey ashes. Strange barely had enough time to whisper, "Tony, there was no other way," before he too faded into oblivion.

 _There was no other way._

Strange had utilized his precious Time Stone only hours before to discern whether or not Thanos could possibly be defeated in his quest to gain control of all six Infinity Stones. In doing so, he had reported that out of however many millions of possible outcomes, only one would lead to a victory over the mad Titan.

Only one.

But now, with Strange gone, did that mean their one hope of victory was gone as well? Or, in his extensive research, did Strange discover that in order to eventually be victorious over Thanos, that half the universe still had to perish?

Attempting to draw in a deep breath, Tony sputtered, his lungs burning from the ash still settling on the floor of the dismal planet. He had to get out of here, had to get the kid and the robot-girl and find a way off of this rock, before—

"Mr. Stark?"

 _Oh no. No no no no no._

As close as Tony had grown to the boy, and as many times as he had insisted that Peter call him by his first name, Peter had yet to do so. Peter's boyish voice quivered as he spoke Tony's formal name, a nearly heartbreaking sound that Tony had only heard from him one other time, following the incident in New York with the ferry, when Tony had demanded that Peter return his Spider Suit.

"I just wanted to be like you," Peter had said then, nearly in tears at the prospect of losing his gifted, custom-made suit.

"And I wanted you to be better," Tony had replied. Because he did. He wanted whatever was best for this kid. _His_ kid. Peter was _his_ kid, _his_ responsibility. Because related by blood or not, this kid—this skinny, baby-faced, brilliant kid with the heart of gold—had managed to worm his way into Tony's life and his heart like no one ever had managed to before. More than Rhodey, more than Happy, more than his father. Even, if Tony dared to admit it, more than Pepper.

As slowly as he dared, Tony turned to look at Peter, standing just a few feet away. Peter's already pale face seemed to drain of what little color remained as his slight but deadly strong body swayed, his arms held out, bent at the elbows in front of him, as if to help keep himself balanced. As he took one slow, stumbling step towards Tony, both of them watched in horror as Peter's right foot began to splinter apart.

"I don't feel so good…" Peter said, swallowing hard.

"You're all right," Tony replied automatically, taking a step towards Peter. Even as he said it, he knew it sounded ridiculous. There was no way Peter was all right. They were stranded out here in the middle of goddamn space with no way to get home. But isn't that what any loving adult says to a kid when they say they don't feel good? Isn't that the standard comfort line that's used? Even if it's complete and utter bullshit?

Tony's heart, long since surgically repaired, the piece of shrapnel that had been a constant threat to his life now removed, felt as heavy in his chest as it did way back in Afghanistan. Back in the cave all those years ago, when Yinsen had implanted the first device in Tony's chest, hooking it up to a car battery to keep the shrapnel from entering his heart and killing him. Ice-cold dread seeped into his bones, and the throbbing from the stab wound in his abdomen intensified as he took another step towards Peter, holding his arms open as the kid suddenly lurched forward, falling against him.

"I don't—, I don't know what's happening…"

 _No, please no! Not him!_

Tony had assumed that Peter would be safe when he didn't disappear right away, like the others. But now, as the boy's arms clung to him for dear life, his hands scrabbling at Tony's shoulders as he whimpered in pain, Tony realized what was happening. Peter's Spider-Man powers included the ability to heal quickly from illness or injury, similar to the powers Steve Rogers received from his super-soldier serum. Which likely meant that the boy's body had been slowly breaking down the entire time the others were fading, and he was just now losing the battle.

Tony felt his stomach drop to his knees as Peter's whimpers grew louder. Why hadn't Peter stayed on the bus that morning, like a good little high-school student? His class was heading for a field trip he'd said, likely some science museum or library. The bus driver was probably even one of those grumpy old men, who liked to tell the kids to "sit down and shut up", in the middle of telling old war stories that only people like Peter would listen to.

"I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, sir, please!" the boy pleaded. As Peter's legs faded away he pulled hard on Tony's shoulders, and Tony knees buckled under him. The staccato pain in his abdomen protested the movement but Tony barely felt it, so consumed with terror at the inevitable outcome of what was happening.

"Please, I don't wanna go!" cried Peter, his high-pitched voice laced with fear. A fear so strong it was literally consuming him. His legs were completely gone now, and they fell in a heap onto the burnt orange ground, Peter's hands still clinging desperately to Tony's shoulders.

Was it only hours ago that Tony had told Pepper he wanted a kid? It now seemed like a lifetime ago. As he pulled back to look into Peter's terrified eyes—his baby browns as Aunt May called them—Tony couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt this helpless. Not when Pepper decided they needed a break and moved out of their home, prior to the Sokovia Accords. Not when he fought with Cap and the others at the airport in Leipzig. Not when Rhodey fell helplessly from the sky, breaking his spine. Not even when he discovered that Bucky What's-his-face assassin had killed his parents.

Not even when his not-so-aptly-named Fun-Vee was attacked by terrorists in Afghanistan, and he was taken prisoner. That fateful incident that led to the birth of Iron Man.

Tony knew he should say something, anything, that might comfort the dying child lying in his arms. He was good with words; often able to come up with the quippy one-liners that had everyone both laughing and thinking he was a genius. But here, now, there were no words. There was nothing he could say around the lump in his throat the size of a golf ball. There was nothing he could do to ease the suffering of this kid that he'd brought into this whole mess in the first place.

So Peter, sweet, kind, lovable Peter, who strangely enough seemed to know him almost better than anyone, looked into Tony's eyes, and his face visibly relaxed. He was in almost unimaginable pain, likely feeling every single break and tear in his flesh as he scattered apart, but he was able to somehow, in some way, school his features into a look of almost serenity. As if to reassure Tony that it wasn't his fault. That Tony shouldn't feel guilty. That Peter was here on his own accord, because he'd wanted to try and help. After all, wasn't that what a friendly little neighborhood Spider-Man was supposed to do?

"I'm sorry…" Peter said, and Tony could swear he almost smiled. How like Peter was it, that his very last action would be to try to smile at his friend, his mentor, his surrogate dad.

And then, Peter's head turned slightly to the side, and he faded away. Tony pitched forward as he lost his hold on Peter's body, his hands landing in the ashes that remained behind. They stuck to his fingers and palm, like grease from the engine of one of his fancy cars. But instead of rubbing it away, he curled into a ball on the ground, and clutched his hand to his heart, too stunned and broken to even cry.

It's not exactly the same vision he received from Scarlet Witch, the vision where all of his fellow Avengers had perished in a great battle, the vision that led him to create Ultron, who then destroyed an entire Eastern European city and killed millions of people.

No, this wasn't quite the same.

This, was worse.

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 _ **I thrive on reviews! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! :)**_

 _ **I'm geekymoviemom on tumblr too, stop by and say hi!**_


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